


redemption

by llizziibee



Category: Redemption - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:55:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24771214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/llizziibee/pseuds/llizziibee
Summary: Elliot has known Ansel and Rogan since he was fourteen and they found each other in juvie. Five years later, and he’s a dirt poor high school dropout living in a studio apartment in Vegas with two other high school dropouts, addicted to crack, hoping to make something out of their passion for songwriting. Like we haven’t heard THAT story before. Oh, and one more thing: Elliot is desperately in love with Ansel.





	redemption

**Author's Note:**

> hey guys!  
> this fic is something i’ve worked very hard on for a LONG ass time.  
> i’ve picked different real-life songs by the neighborhood, arctic monkeys, Amir Obe, Jaymes Young, etc. to be the band’s songs in this.  
> i would highly recommend listening to these songs. first of all they’re amazing songs, and second, music is very important in this novel. all the emotions in a scene where the band is performing are riding on the song.  
> check out my playlist called “redemption” on spotify. these are all the band’s songs. they may seem like a mix of music genres, but that’s kind of the way i like it, and that’s what redemption is: a huge mess of these three big-hearted boys and their hopes and their dreams and their struggles and their pasts and futures.
> 
> i hope you guys love them as much as i do.

“Get your ass back in there and start flipping burgers, Zannos.”  
Elliot tried not to blush and looked up at the girl he’d been flirting with. “Sorry. You heard the man.”  
“You’ll call me?”  
“If you’re lucky,” he said with a wink. Of course he wasn’t going to call her. But best to keep up the illusion. Ansel was looking around at the sound from where he sat in the corner of the Burger King. His eyes met Elliot’s and he said with a smirk, “Yeah, get your ass back in there and do some flipping, Zannos.”  
“Watch your tone or you’ll be the one I flip.” But Elliot was smiling. His job was only fun when Ansel was in the corner, sipping on a strawberry shake and scratching away at paper. He was clearly the most talented in their trio. His music was captivating. It made you feel things. And his voice was no doubt superior, too. They wouldn’t stand a chance if they didn’t have him.  
He realized his boss was yelling again, and he snapped out of his daze and darted back to the kitchen, whipping a hairnet and new gloves on before getting to work. He frowned down at the slab of “meat” in his hands. There was nothing stopping him from quitting. He could work at a Starbucks, or a Chick-fil-A, or a McDonald’s. But he chose here. Why? Because his boss was the only boss he’d had who let Ansel sit in the corner for hours on end. Elliot didn’t like Ansel being out of his sight. It’s the PTSD. Also, he reminded Elliot of why he was working a minimum-wage job. He reminded Elliot that there were things worth working for. Living for. So.  
By eight thirty, Rogan is in the booth next to Ansel. Rogan doesn’t like Ansel being out of his sight either, and vice versa. They were foster brothers from ages nine to fourteen. They wound up in juvie until 18 when they killed their foster dad after he raped Rogan’s biological sister, Kya. She was ten. Died at 15. Overdose. He can’t imagine what they went through together in that house. Elliot tries not to think about how he would be dead too. If it weren’t for them. He doesn’t like needing people or things out of his control. He needed his mom when his dad was beating him. He needed a job when he was forced to deliver drugs to pay for their house. And he needed a family when his mom died and he became a dealer at 14. He did get one. Sort of. A somewhat dysfunctional one, sure. But they saved him. He knows they won’t leave. But he has a chronic fear of abandonment and no money for therapy. So the fear isn’t going anywhere anytime soon.  
He closes up at ten thirty, and they’re out of there by eleven, walking the three blocks back to their apartment. Rogan is on probation, and Ansel works part-time at a fucking pet store. As if just being himself wasn’t enough. He spends 30 hours a week taking care of animals.  
“I have news,” Ansel said. Elliot and Rogan looked at him, because Ansel sounded somewhat nervous, and that was weird. “I think I can get us a spot.”  
“What do you mean?” Rogan said.  
“I mean, a gig. I can get - well, I GOT us a gig. At that new club on Charleston Street.”  
“Holy shit. When?”  
“Uh, next Friday. At uh, eleven.”  
“What the fuck? Really? I mean, is this happening?” Elliot said.  
Ansel smirked. “Yeah.”  
“How did you make that happen?”  
“I got...well...a little friendly with the owner,” Ansel said vaguely.  
“What?!” Elliot yelped. “So...I mean...okay. Well, it worked.”  
“Clearly,” Rogan said, nudging Ansel. “But...a week? I don’t know...”  
“It’s okay. You fixed Elliot’s keyboard, right?”  
“Yes...do you think they’ll have a full drum set there?”  
“Oh, for sure. This place is nice. You’d be surprised. It’s all Euphoria-esque. Especially the drug part.” Rogan laughed. “The lighting, they have fog machines, bubble machines...it’s a step up from begging for one song at a bar with thirty people in it.”  
“What are we playing, though? I mean, do we have anything that fits that vibe?  
“I have a few things,” Ansel says evasively.  
“New things?” said Elliot.  
“Yeah,” he says innocently.  
“But it’s eight days from now,” Rogan said.  
“Oh, don’t worry. It’ll be fine. I’ll be the lead, and the drums aren’t hard to pick up on. Neither is the keyboard. It’ll be great.”  
“Are you using your guitar?”  
“Yeah.” Ansel grinned. “Ugh, it’ll be great. You’ll love it.” Elliot already knew he would. He loved all of Ansel’s songs. That was the thing about Ansel. He was just so...talented. He was shy, sure. He didn’t like showing other people things that were important to him. But he should, Elliot thought, because they were awesome. He gets so excited about things quietly. And he tries, too, behind the scenes. He works hard. And clearly, it pays off.  
He doesn’t want to think about how he got the job.  
He knows he’s going to think about it before he falls asleep.  
At their apartment, he’s the first into the bathroom to shower. They have two beds: one full and one twin, pushed together against the wall, a nightstand in between them. By the time he’s out, Rogan has claimed the twin and is fast asleep. Elliot thinks to himself that he’s probably just high. He won’t be up for another twelve hours.  
“Wanna do a line?” Ansel asks. Elliot looks at him, shirtless on the bed. His hair is a mess. It’s long, jet black, reaching just past his ears. He looks at Ansel’s big eyes, wide and expectant. “Nah, I think I’ll go for a run.”  
“Aren’t you opening tomorrow?” Ansel said, confused. “Didn’t you just shower?”  
“Okay, fine. I’m going to meet that girl from work.” Elliot lied smoothly.  
“Oooh, really?”  
“Mmm-hmm.”  
“Need a condom? I have a few boxes in the bathroom.”  
Elliot didn’t want to think about who he was using condoms with. “No, but thanks, mom!”  
“Get out,” Ansel laughed.  
“With pleasure,” Elliot said, and left.  
In reality, he was just going for a walk. Vegas was more fun at night. There were people, things to distract him. That was how he worked.  
Because Elliot thinks there’s three types of secrets. The first is between two people. The second you keep to yourself. But the third you hide from yourself. You never, ever think it, never say it, because doing so might kill you. But it swims, just out of reach, above you, all the time. It comes to you in dreams, in songs, in the way they say your name or their voice or their laugh or the way they never stop pushing themselves, never stop trying. It swims closer at night, almost close enough to grab a hold of it, but never, never should you try to grab it. So you ignore it, push it away, knowing that one day, it will explode and destroy everything, a supernova.  
That day was getting closer and closer.


End file.
